


Payment

by TheonSugden



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, F/M, Hate Sex, Homophobic comments, M/M, Oral Sex, Violence, bottom robert, implication of past unpleasant sexual encounters, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonSugden/pseuds/TheonSugden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross POV after he and Robert have rough sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payment

**Author's Note:**

> This is set soon after Ross told Robert's wife Chrissie about Robert being in on the Home Farm burglary, and pocketed the £5,000 Robert gave him to keep quiet.

This had been one of the weirdest days of Ross’ life, and he’d had plenty.

In the space of half a day - on a good day he spent half a day napping or catching up on  _Ninja Warrior_  - he’d been crushed by Debbie, crushed bondage queen of the manor Chrissie, gotten an easy 5K from Robert Smugden, and to top it off, gotten slammed into a wall by the same fuming fella.

They’d measured dicks, spewed their best insults…the usual macho posturing until Ross had spat in his smarmy toff excuse for a face. The rock hard cock against his thigh after that act had made it clear just how literally Robert wanted to take the dick measuring.

Back against brick had turned into tongue against teeth, overturned tables and chairs, Robert’s it-costs-money-to-look-that-cheap shirt torn to pieces on their way up the stairs.

Ross cringed as he realized they hadn’t made it to his room…

_Oh God, I gave Robbie Rich the ride of his life in Finn’s bed._

Probably the best fuck the place would ever see.

He made a mental note to burn the sheets after Robbo finally got the fuck out.

Even now, while he was watching Robert pace the house to find what was left of his pig ugly wardrobe, he didn’t quite want him to leave.

He’d fucked men before… even been fucked once or twice, but it wasn’t something he’d wanted to think about, much less repeat.

But today, he’d been so low down, nothing had mattered but release. He’d just lost it - lost all control, all the voices, often in his dad’s endless hiss, telling him he was a poof and sad and sick and not a man.

Robert hadn’t been the bendable posh scrote he’d expected - they’d scrapped and choked and wrestled, all arms and legs and sweat and skin; Robert had bitten him in so many places Ross knew from the neck down he looked like something off Hannibal. It was still the best he’d felt in a while. He was sorry it was over.

He didn’t want to think about that either.

Watching Robert gingerly sliding his tight boxers over his well-fucked ass, Ross decided to do what he did best when he didn’t want to think about something.

“Makes sense now.”

Robert ignored him as he slipped on one of Ross’ t-shirts, which didn’t quite fit, but in some odd way looked fantastic on him.

_Just shows how fuckin’ awesome I am._

“Said it makes sense now,” Ross repeated, refusing to be ignored as Robert fixed his wild hair.

“I’m sorry. Am I supposed to talk to you? That’s not what you’re good for.”

Ross leapt from the bed so fast it made Robert jump…exactly the reaction Ross had wanted.

“It makes sense now,” he said one last time, death grip on Robert’s arm, “Way you’ve always looked at me. Way you’ve always looked at Adam, Pete…Aaron.”

He waited to see a reaction when he mentioned Aaron, waited to see if that strange sense he’d had the day after Cain had faceplanted in the garage and Robert had been so  _concerned_  about Aaron was backed up.

“S’alright, y’know. Been tempted to give him a real pounding meself. God knows he could use one.”

Robert wrenched his arm free, face as unreadable as it was anytime Ross wasn’t filling it with the best cock he’d ever taste.

“Would it bother ya if I did? Would it make ya chase me ‘round in that snazzy Audi your missus is gonna drop on your head next time she sees ya?”

Robert sneered with that last dig. Ross felt proud he’d gotten through at all.

“If you’re so desperate for Aaron, ask him yourself.”

Still not an answer.

“Might just do that.”

Robert went back the blank face, slipping on his socks and shoes, gaze steady on Ross’ naked body in a way that made Ross feel like a piece of meat.

“I just have one question,” Robert finally said.

“If it’s about the 5K…”

“It’s not,” Robert promised. “I got my money’s worth today.”

That made Ross feel dirty, even dirtier because he knew that’s exactly why Robert had said it.

“Just say it and go,” he warned, dark tinge of his voice making Robert hesitate.

“Fine,” Robert said, staring him straight on, smirk at the corners of his mouth.

“Was Donna as good a fuck for you as she was for me?”

Ross saw red, felt a knife against every open nerve he had and a few he’d barely managed to patch shut since he’d lost her.

He slammed Robert against the bedroom wall, Ben Browder poster crashing to the floor as his arm went to Robert’s throat.

“If you EVER…”

Robert managed to shove him away, disorienting him further by grabbing the back of his head for a bruising, biting kiss, full of hate on both sides, hate and rage and loss in the desperate embrace.

When Robert finally pulled away, Ross, breathing heavy, wiped his mouth, barely fazed by the shared blood on the back of his hand.

“Get out.”

Robert smirked again.

“Don’t need any help cleaning up?”

The fist against the drywall three inches away from his head was the only answer he needed.

Ross sat back on the bed, zoned out until the phone rang in his jeans pocket somewhere near the whipped cream on the kitchen counter.

“So you’re all goin’ into Hotten for a meal…right. Best if I stay here. Nah. I’m fine. Don’t hurry back. Sick to death o’your ugly mugs anyway.”

At least it gave him more time to clean up.

He found his way over to the couch, remembering his legs spread wide as Robert had deep-throated him like a proper whore, cocksucker lips stretched and strained at the thickness, nails clawing his thighs proper red and raw.

Beside the torn piece from the shit-ugly shirt was his wallet.

A photo of Donna had fallen on the floor. One from their day on the carousel. She’d been so beautiful…

“I sure know how to pick ‘em,” he muttered, putting the picture back in his wallet.

He looked at the shirt scrap one last time, deep in thought, before wiping his cock and balls with it and sealing it in a plastic bag.

The next time he got Robert alone, he’d shove it down his throat.


End file.
